


so i just waited with the lights turned out again

by openended



Series: Bomb in a Birdcage [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Character of Faith, Friendship, Gen, Post-Here Lies the Abyss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 06:06:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5697799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/openended/pseuds/openended
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's never been afraid of spiders. She saw something much worse in the Fade. </p>
<p>(contains non-explicit references to past sexual assault)</p>
            </blockquote>





	so i just waited with the lights turned out again

**Author's Note:**

> _I can’t remember when the earth turned slowly_  
>  _So I just waited with the lights turned out again_  
>  _I’ve lost my place but I can’t stop this story_  
>  _I’ll find my way but until then I’m only spinning_ [[x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rQMszGXkeKU)]

Cullen stops halfway to his desk. Something’s different than when he left to find a mug of tea. He frowns, but the tingling in his fingertips doesn’t stop even when he sets the mug on his desk. He may not be a templar anymore and he may not be taking lyrium, but nearby magic still makes him itch. Confused, he looks around his office - even lifts up the stack of papers and peers underneath - until he hears a faint _crack_ from above and smells a whiff of smoke.

Ah.

He climbs the ladder up toward his room and pauses near the top, with only his torso above the floor. Ariadne’s sitting in the far corner, half-hidden by shadow, knees tucked to her chest. Three sparks roll across the knuckles of her left hand, pinky to thumb and back again, the way a sovereign travels along the knuckles of a street performer before it disappears into his palm forever.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hello.”

“What are you doing?”

“Hiding,” she says, and transfers the sparks to her right hand. Her wince of pain is visible even through the shadows.

The sparks cast light - faint, but bright enough - over her injured knuckles; probably bleeding up until an hour ago, could do with a healer’s attention, or at least a poultice from one.

“What’d you do to your hand?” He’d seen her after Adamant, when the chaos passed and they’d counted their dead and headed, exhaustedly, back to Skyhold. She’d been scraped and bruised and grimy, and covered in unspeakable gooey bits that smelled like vegetables left to rot in the sun, but there hadn’t been any damage to her hands. There hadn’t been any damage to her hands at breakfast this morning, either.

She sighs. “I punched Solas. And then I punched a wall.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s an ass. And then I was still angry after I stormed off, so found a wall to take it out on. And now I’m hiding. Would you come all the way up? You look ridiculous halfway in the floor like that.”

He happily obliges - the ladder isn’t terribly stable - and joins her in the corner. He sits beside her, mimicking her posture. “So, why are you hiding?”

The sparks abruptly stop. She twists her hand to catch them, and they disappear into her palm without so much as a puff of smoke. “I didn’t see spiders, Cullen.”

“I know,” he says softly. “What did you see?” The answer’s obvious to him; her Chant’s open in front of her - first verse of Trials, tenth stanza at the top of the page - and even if it weren’t, there are only two things that genuinely frighten Ariadne, and only one that makes sense for the Nightmare. Spiders aren’t it.

“He was everywhere,” she says, staring straight ahead. “He didn’t have any weapons, he wasn’t even trying to…” she inhales sharply. “All he did, every time I saw him, was walk toward to me.”

She clenches her jaw, and Cullen knows there’s more to it than that, more that she doesn’t want to tell him. More that she’s never told him. She nudges his shoulder with hers, and he lifts his arm and settles it around her. “He’s dead, Ari,” he says.

“I know.”

Wind blows through the broken rafters and he shivers in spite of the mantle. Ariadne murmurs a few quiet words and breathes out. His fingertips tingle again, just briefly, and the chill disappears.

“Corypheus said something,” she says after a while. “He was taunting me.” She shakes her head and looks up at the ceiling, as if the stones and wooden beams contain any answers at all. “He said… _how can you expect to save the entire world from me? You couldn’t even save yourself from one single templar_.”

“Ari.” Cullen briefly tightens his arm around her.

“No,” she shakes her head again. “He’s right. I…I couldn’t do anything against…he wouldn’t stop. _Four months_ , Cullen. It took me four months to tell Cora, and I still don’t know how I got to her room. If I hadn’t…I don’t know that I ever would’ve told someone. And _I’m_ the Inquisitor? _I’m_ supposed to be Thedas’ only hope against an unending wave of demons and red templars and an ancient darkspawn Tevinter magister and possible god? I couldn’t even get one templar to leave me alone.” She props her elbows on her knees and rests her brow in her palms.

“Ari,” he whispers again, not having any words to comfort her; not in this, not now.

“It wasn’t Andraste, in the Fade at Haven. It wasn’t the Maker, it wasn’t Andraste. It was Justinia. I’ve been…” she takes a deep, shaky breath, “there were moments in my life when I was convinced someone was watching out for me; that Andraste herself might be coming to help. And I thought that was one of them, but it was Justinia. Maybe the others were all in my head, too. Just desperate hopings of a sad, pathetic orphan. And then Corpyheus opened his mouth. And then I turned a corner, and there were six of… _him_ , just standing there, staring at me the way he used to, before he’d…and he was around _every_ corner until the end. And then Solas yelled at me, so I punched him, and then I punched a wall, but that didn’t help, and it’s still new, between us, so Josephine doesn’t know about any of this.”

She lifts her head and looks at Cullen. “So I’m hiding. In your room. I’m sorry.” She tucks her hair behind her ear and offers him a weak smile.

“C’mere,” he says, and draws her closer. “You’re always welcome to hide up here.”

Lacing her fingers with his, she tugs his arm a little tighter around her. “Thank you.” With a small wave of her free hand, she lights the candles to combat the dying afternoon light. She leans her head on his shoulder.

“He was _everywhere_ , Cullen,” she whispers once the sun has finally set. “I was terrified - I couldn’t move. There were so many of him and he had this _look_. I froze. I couldn’t do anything. I knew it wasn’t him, but I couldn’t call for help. I couldn’t even cast a barrier.”

Gently, he rubs his thumb in circles against her palm. The panic in her voice, even here in the relative safety of his room at Skyhold, is hard to miss. He’d wrapped mages in silence before, but only to contain their magic. Ever since she told him what it felt like, to be held there over and over without anything to help her fight back, he’d refused to use it again. Not even in Kirkwall.

Ariadne takes deep, slow breaths in and out. Cullen stays silent, only rubbing her palm; she’s not so far from the edge that she needs him to help her walk back. He watches the emotions war on her face, highlighted by flickering candlelight. A clenched jaw, teeth worrying her lower lip, shining eyes. Pain to anger to fear to sadness and back again, and everything in between.

“But it turns out that Antivan fire grenades will kill just about anything.”

“And you carry four of them.”

A small smile spreads across her lips. “And I carry four of them.” She tilts her head. “Magic could not undo what evil has done.” Harsh laughter bubbles up in her throat and comes out as inelegant snort, followed by a cough. “It’s been ten years,” she says abruptly. “I shouldn’t still…he’s dead, and it was ten years ago, I should be fine.”

One moment orchestrated by a demon doesn’t erase ten years of progress. She can hear words and phrases again, let certain people touch her, and even smell pine, without memory overtaking her. Her assumption’s false. “It’s been ten years and I still hear Uldred sometimes,” he offers a counterpoint.

Her sigh is a heavy one. “Fair enough.”

The dinner bell rings, and neither of them make any move to leave. She’s the Inquisitor and he’s the Commander; neither of them like using their titles for sandwiches in the middle of the night, but they’ve both done it before.

“Andraste had nothing to do with this,” she says. “I’m just a person. And a person who’s probably a little crazy for thinking Andraste or the Maker ever paid any attention to her. And a person who punched a guy when he called her on it.”

“Is that why you punched Solas?”

Nodding, she hugs her knees. “There was more to it, but when he brought my faith into it and _mocked_ me for believing that the Maker would…” she scoffs. “That’s when I decided to hit him.” She shakes her head slowly. “His gods have disappeared and he’s given up, but that doesn’t mean that mine has or I have. Or should.”

Cullen leans closer and presses his lips to her temple. “I’m glad you haven’t given up.”

“So am I.” She sniffs, and flexes her injured fingers. “I should find something for my hand.”

He nods; when she’s done talking, she’s done talking. He stands and offers her his hand. She picks up her Chant with one hand, and takes his hand with the other. Once she’s standing, he draws her into a proper, full hug. “He’s dead, Ariadne,” Cullen whispers, his arms wrapped tight around her. “He’s dead and buried. Corypheus is wrong - you saved yourself.”

She buries her face in the fur mantle, tucking herself up against him. Her arms, warm and strong around him, return the hug just as fiercely. “Thank you.”


End file.
